Five is Not a Family

I’m a firm believer that every experience should be a learning experience. When you stop learning you stop growing, right? So what I learned on my vacation was this: Five is not a family. It might be a clan, or a gaggle, or a mob, or a boy band, but it is most definitely not a family.

Now anyone out there with more than two kids probably already knows what I’m talking about. You go to a motel/hotel/campsite that advertises a family rate. Excellent. Come right in dear sir and madam and your one, two, three…oh dear. I’m sorry. The family rate only applies to families of four. You’ll have to pay extra. You’ll also have to pay for a cot as the room only has two double beds.

Off to the restaurant. How many? Five? Oh my. Well, you’ll have to wait an extra thirty minutes for us to push two tables together. There must be an extra chair around somewhere.

Only two can sit together on amusement park rides. Two plus two is four (too bad).  No groups greater than four on the mini golf course (drat). The waterpark has a family rate (yay!) but it only includes four towels (boo!). It became a running gag during our vacation, and by the fifth day our son joked that we should vote someone out of the family just to keep things simple.

In the end we decided to keep everyone and put up with the inconvenience of being a herd rather than a family. More is merrier, even if it does cost extra.

Down for the Count

Ahh, that Robbie Burns. He knew what he was talking about when he spoke of the schemes of mice and men. Does anyone ever have their plans go exactly right? Anyone? Show of hands.

There are many simple and spectacular ways a family's scheduled events can go asunder, but nothing beats a stomach bug for efficiency.

* Warning! Stop reading here if you:
        - are emetophobic
        - are faint of heart
        - have a low "ick" tolerance
        - are not at least this tall 

We planned for a nice long weekend visiting the in-laws around the bay. The weather forecast was good, and we had visions of hikes and kayaks dancing in our heads. By Wednesday evening we had everything packed and ready to hit the road very early the next morning so we could be there by noon.

Our littlest one woke crying on Wednesday night, mere hours before we planned to leave. She didn't know what was wrong, but climbed into bed with mama and daddy to make it all better. Probably just a bad dream, we thought, until the leaned over the side of the bed and upchucked everything she ate in the past week. So we cleaned, and comforted, and got a bucket for the bedside just in time for her to yell "MOM! HOLD MY HAIR!" which I continued to do for the next six hours.

By morning she was bright as a button again, so although we were hours behind schedule, we pushed ahead with our plans. We arrived just before dark. We lost a day, but we'd make do with the time we had left.

By the middle of day two, the boy was complaining of an upset tummy. An hour later we were scrubbing the bathroom floor and he was quarantined to the room at the end of the hall. I started the washing machine while Hubby went to the store for ginger ale.

Around 8:00 I started to feel a little woozy. It's been a long day, I thought. My head ached. All that scrubbing, I said. Did I feel nauseated*, or was it just in my head, I wondered.

Glurk!

By the end of the weekend, the only ones left unscathed were Hubby and his dad.

Things I learned this weekend:

• Five year olds can throw up way more than you would think
• You might think the worst is over. It's not. Don't say it out loud.
• If your flight is cancelled and you decide to wait in the airport closet, don't talk to the guy selling maple syrup (This may have been a dream).

* Nauseated means feeling sick. Nauseous means sickening. If you tell me you are nauseous, I might laugh, and that wouldn't be nice.